


say you will or will you won't or you whatever

by renaissance



Series: R/S 24-Hour Challenge [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: First War with Voldemort, Gillyweed, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Summer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 07:53:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13477032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renaissance/pseuds/renaissance
Summary: In the summer sun and beneath the shadow of the war, not talking about the future, making plans for today.





	say you will or will you won't or you whatever

**Author's Note:**

> for CosmicMomo's prompt at the R/S 24 Hour Challenge: "a date by the lake" + giant squid, gillyweed, willow, frozen, rotten, constellation, snow.
> 
> many thanks to jo for the inspiration for this one! the title is from the decemberists' "lake song," which started playing just as i went to post and was clearly a sign. also, i felt that this fic warranted some incomprehensible nonsense to go with the stoner vibe.

It’s not winter and there’s no snow but that doesn’t stop Remus from lying on his back, spreading his arms and legs like he’s making an angel in the dew-damp grass, his heels dipping shallow into the warm water.

“What are you planning to do once you graduate,” Sirius says. For the fifth time. He says it flatly like the career advisor had said it—Professor Something-Or-Other, a sometime-examiner from the Ministry, who today had met them one by one and talked them through their prospects. Sirius has been imitating him for half an hour, five minutes maybe, saying _What are you planning to do once you graduate_ and he’ll probably keep saying it until it loses all its meaning.

“I don’t fucking know,” Remus says. “I’m Sirius Black. Haven’t you heard of me? I’m going to live off my shady uncle’s inheritance and spend my days lounging about like the idle _riche_ I am.”

Sirius hums, low, and Remus feels it vibrate through the blades of grass. “A noble pursuit, Mr. Black. But tell me—what are you planning to _do_ once you graduate.”

“There are a lot of problems for me to ignore. My best mate—he’s engaged already, did you know? Makes me feel I’m not moving fast enough. None of us have got jobs lined up yet, of course.”

“Of course.”

“So tell me,” Remus says, “Mr. Lupin. What are you going to—”

“ _Planning_ ,” Sirius hisses.

“—what are you planning to do once you graduate?”

Sirius sits up straight, straightens his tie, though he’s not wearing one. “I don’t want to make plans. It’s all very uncertain. As you may know, I have this… condition.”

“You’re a prick,” Remus says.

“Technical term.” Sirius clears his throat. “No, Professor Whatsit, you see, I’m a—”

Palms on the ground, Sirius pushes himself off the ground and lets out an almighty howl. Remus scrambles upright too, swatting at Sirius—“Stop it, stop it, somebody will hear!”—shoving a hand over Sirius’ mouth, fingers slipping.

“Away, beast! You’re just after my treasure.”

“You’re rotten, Sirius Black,” Remus says. The werewolf jokes get a little less funny with every full moon, but Remus doesn’t want Sirius—or the others—to think he’s anything less than grateful for their support, so he lets it slide. “This stuff cost you two galleons off a Ravenclaw. It’s hardly treasure.”

Sirius pulls the joint from his lips and blows smoke right into Remus’ face. “One man’s trash—isn’t that how the saying goes?”

“Yes, I know one man who fits the bill very well,” Remus says. He snatches the gillyweed and takes a drag.

“You know,” Sirius says, “they’re only engaged because it’s wartime.”

“I thought the whole point of this was not to talk about the war.”

Sirius shrugs. “What’s the point? We’re all going to die, anyway. You go out with someone for ten months, you ask them to marry you… and I’m going to be godfather, if they have a kid. Prongs already told me, though I don’t think he’s asked Evans. But he’s got it all sorted.”

“Bet he’s thought of a name and everything.”

“Don’t know. He ought to let me choose. I’ll saddle that child with a name worthy of a Black. Name it after a constellation, or some shit.”

“What about you?” Remus asks.

“You’d know if I was seeing someone,” Sirius says. “It would be all shagging, all the time. You’d never see me again.”

“I have it on good authority you’ve never shagged anyone.”

Mock-horrified, Sirius puts a hand to his chest. “Whose?”

“Yours.”

“Well you haven’t either, so there.”

It’s a weak argument. The sun is low over the treetops of the Forbidden Forest and their N.E.W.T.s are less than a week away and Remus is on the lawn by the lake getting stoned with the only person he’s ever tangibly wanted to shag—Syd Barrett doesn’t count. Maybe Remus would have made a move, on Sirius, on someone else, but. He has this condition.

“If you could,” Sirius says. He coughs again, and grabs the joint back from Remus to cover it. “Who would you shag?”

In the corner of Remus’ eye, a tentacle protrudes from the lake’s surface, splashes back under in slow motion. “The Giant Squid,” he says. “Obviously.”

“What about in winter, when the lake’s frozen over? What would you do then, stay frigid for a season?”

Remus would not have expected this to be chief among Sirius’ concerns. It is certainly not chief among his own. Sirius laughs at his own joke—“ _Frigid_ , winter, you get it, Moony?”—and passes over the technicalities.

“Well, what about you?” Remus grumbles.

“I don’t know, your Willow, or something,” Sirius says. “Is the game that we pick something outlandish? Because I think getting fucked by the Willow would be—”

“Alright, I don’t want to hear it.”

Sirius laughs into a cloud of smoke, and then passes the joint back to Remus. “You want my honest answer?”

“You don’t even know what you’re going to—sorry, what you’re planning to do once you graduate.”

“Join the Order, of course,” Sirius says. “Like we all are.”

“Fine,” Remus says. “So who would you shag?”

Sirius looks at Remus for a long time without saying anything, five seconds, maybe thirty, maybe a handful of torturous minutes. Then, he says, “I don’t know.”

“Let’s wait until after our N.E.W.T.s,” Remus says. “We can do all the shagging we want once we’re real people again.”

“N.E.W.T.s won’t help us in the Order. I’m thinking of leaving. Maybe tonight.”

“You can’t. Who will I smoke with?”

“Wormtail?”

It’s so absurd that they both laugh, doubled over themselves and each other and making a mess of the grassy ground, Remus’ bare feet falling back into the water’s edge.

“If you don’t—” Remus gasps for breath, “—if neither of us find someone to shag by the time—by the time we get our N.E.W.T. results, let’s do it with each other.”

“Yeah,” Sirius says. He props himself up on one elbow so that he’s looking down at Remus. “Yeah, absolutely.”

Remus didn’t expect him to agree so readily. He decides not to question it. “There’s only one condition.”

“Name it.”

“You have to stay for your N.E.W.T.s if you want to get your results.”

“Remus!” Sirius shouts. He flops down and lies across Remus like an itchy jumper. “Why can’t we time it by your N.E.W.T. results?”

“It only works if it’s both of us,” Remus says. Satisfied, he takes another drag. He likes being the one to make up the rules, for a change.

“Alright, different idea,” Sirius says. “Let’s just fuck now. I mean, not here, now. Tonight.”

“If we do,” Remus says, humouring Sirius, “and if it’s good, and you maybe—want to do it again—then you won’t be able to leave tonight after all, will you?”

Sirius huffs. His chest vibrates against Remus’ chest and Remus wonders if this is what it’ll feel like, if they do. If it’ll feel like the buzz of letting go of your mind and slipping dangerously close to the lake’s edge, or if it’ll be something more subtle, like the grass against bare skin, the smell of smoke on the air.

“You’ve got me either way,” Sirius says.

Remus can’t help but smile. “Guess I do.”


End file.
